


age of aquarius

by sensitivepeepers



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 1960s, F/F, Feminist Themes, Portland Oregon, Road Trips, Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-03-28 12:00:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13903584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitivepeepers/pseuds/sensitivepeepers
Summary: In the summer of 1965, a small town spinster and a feminist professor of literature have a chance to start fresh across the country.





	1. it only takes a moment

It takes a special occasion for Katya to watch the sunrise. This particular event is waiting for the general store in Shitsville, Wisconsin to open. Her watch tells her it's 5:02 but the girl inside hasn't unlocked the door yet. The sun just breaks over the horizon and Katya throws her cigarette to the ground, twists her heel on it, and raps the glass door with her knuckles.

Through the foggy door the woman looks up in surprise and hurries from the counter to unlock it.

"So sorry about that! We usually don't get anyone until six or seven!"

"Then why does the sign say five?"

"Well," the woman brushes some hair behind her reddened ears, "that's just when papa's always opened it."

Katya avoids noticing too much about the girl. Instead she forages through the narrow aisles, picking up whatever looks easiest to put together in a motel kitchen.

"Haven't seen you before. New in town?"

"I'm just passing through. On my way to Portland."

"Maine?"

"Oregon."

The girl gasps. "Oh wow, really? Isn't that something."

Katya resists the urge to roll her eyes. "It really is. Do you sell cigarettes here?"

"No, but if you leave here, go northeast, and cross the street at the corner they do at the drugstore. What are you going to Oregon for?"

"Teaching job," Katya says, a swell of pride in her chest. "Do you sell anything I don't have to cook?"

"You won't find anything in plastic for miles. So what grade do you teach?" Katya has to look at her to make sure she's serious, and she regrets it immediately. She's too pretty for this early in the morning, even if it looks like she got dressed in the dark. Her blonde hair is tucked into overalls and the strap is twisted, so she's not a morning person either.

"I teach literature. At a university."

"Oh, my! Is that what's sticking out of your purse?" The girl points. Katya frowns at her bag before remembering what she's carrying.

"This definitely isn't in the curriculum. It's called the Feminine Mystique. Just finished re-reading it last night."  
"What's it all about?" Katya approaches the counter to hand it to her. She also sets down a small egg carton, bananas, peanut butter, grapes, a gallon of milk, two boxes of Cheerios, and a loaf of bread in crinkly brown paper. The girl - Trixie, her name tag says, squints at the first page then raises her eyebrows. "Looks mighty...interesting." She clears her throat. "Will that be all for you today, ma'am?"

"I think so?" Katya opens her purse then stops, wrinkles her nose. "Although I don't look forward to making eggs with no stove."

"I can make you breakfast! We have a kitchen in the back and no one usually comes in for a while."

"That would be lovely," Katya slaps the counter. "Thank you so much. I'm Katya."

"Trixie."

Trixie disappears behind the door with the food, leaving Katya awkwardly stranded until she hears another voice.

"Is this Dusty Springfield?"  
"Yes!" Trixie pops her head into the doorway, a huge smile plastered on her face. "Nobody here knows her! Had to go to Milwaukee to buy all my records. As much as I like Dusty's company, I want to hear what's in that book. Could you read it to me?"

Katya laughs hoarsely. "I sure can."

"The problem lay buried, unspoken, for many years in the minds of American women..."

Breakfast is done long before the first chapter ends, but Trixie leans on her elbows on the counter enraptured as Katya chews through every sentence. Dusty Springfield's voice has long since faded out and Katya's voice is rough, her heels throbbing even as she shifts her weight between her feet.

As Trixie flips the record to side B, she says, "I never thought I needed a husband. Nice to know it doesn't make me broken."

Katya puts her hand over Trixie's, sending a jolt of warmth up her arm. "I don't even want one," she smiles, "so don't think you're alone. Besides, why get a man when you can have this place all to yourself?"

Trixie snorts. "There's not much of a choice there."

"You don't have to stay here forever."

"I don't know about that. I can't leave my sisters behind." Trixie wrings her hands in front of her waist. "Could I borrow that book?"

"Of course. I'll have to get it back from you next time I'm in Wisconsin because I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"Well, I hope I'm not still here by the time you make it back."

"I hope I never come back, honestly," Katya says. "So, how much do I owe you?"

"That will be ten dollars."

Katya's mouth opens and closes in shock. Trixie shrieks out a laugh. "I'm pulling your leg. Your total is $2.95."

She pays and tries to think nothing of the fact that their hands brush when Trixie hands back her change.

"Thanks for dropping in, Katya." Now Trixie's hand rests on the Feminine Mystique, thumb catching the corner to open it again already.

"What if I need someone to help me with breakfast before I hit the road? I'll be back."


	2. come right back, i just can't bear it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title from "have i the right" by the honeycombs

As soon as she's dropped change in a customer's hand the other hand is already picking up the book again. It churns her stomach when a customer tries to see the cover, even though they wouldn't know what it is anyway, so by the time her shift has ended and she's on the second to last chapter, she holds her place with one finger as she presses the front cover securely against her thigh.

  
Not that she's embarrassed to be reading it. She just doesn't know what her sister would think, or any of the bachelors in town who would settle for her.

  
Trixie doesn't know what to think of the Feminine Mystique either. It isn't saying too much she doesn't already know, but she is a little surprised most married women don't work outside the house. Then, most married women don't live in the rural Midwest.

  
Then there's the woman who let her borrow it. With the dark makeup and the spidery long fingers. The one she made breakfast for. Her name sounded foreign, and her accented voice was hoarse by the time she finished the first chapter. She had eaten like a wild animal. Trixie shivers. No woman here acts like that, she thinks. No woman here talks like that either. But there's never been much to say, until now.

  
Her sisters finally get home from school to take over for the afternoon and she's free for another fourteen hours. When Trixie gets home she can't help but feel like she should do something other than stare at the ceiling. She could make a dress before dinner, pick up one of many forgotten guitars around the house, maybe go somewhere. In her head she flies over the town and makes up the scenery on the way to a city. The skyline is so tall it blocks out the sun. What's the weather like in Oregon? When she dreams of the city she sees a blue sky and feels the hot air heavy on her skin. She can barely open her eyes against the brilliant glare of glass buildings. Opening her eyes she half expects the dingy wallpaper to melt into skyscrapers, but it's still the room she outgrew years ago.

  
It's stupid to imagine it. But if she left, what would she bring with her? Every antique ring, hand-me-down nightgown, and untuneable instrument is a memento mori for the past and future of everyone that has lived in her house. It doesn't have to be my future, she tells herself. But the notion of leaving it all behind makes her sick to her stomach.

  
She starts throwing things on her bed for her hypothetical escape. Anything she made herself. The best guitar in the house, a Martin she pretends to remember her dad bringing home when she was three. Her mother's nightgowns. She hesitates before putting her entire jewellery box on the bed. It might be worth something if she could make herself sell any of it.

  
"This is stupid." Even stupider is talking to herself, but that's never stopped her.

  
Trixie should get the book back to the woman from this morning instead of wasting time. She must be staying in the town's only inn, and there's not much to do so she'll likely be sitting around. Trixie looks at the cover of the Feminine Mystique one more time before tossing it in a bag and throwing it over her shoulder. At least no one is home to see this mess. Before she steps outside she throws a quilt on it in case Papa comes home.

  
She's halfway to the inn when she remembers that she forgot to read the last chapter, but maybe she can use that as an excuse to not be alone. Trixie liked listening to the woman's voice, even when her mouth was full of toast.

 

-

  
  
"I don't think you're technically allowed to smoke in here, but I won't tell."

  
"You found me!" With her toothy smile comes the name Trixie had forgotten. Katya steps back from the door to invite her in.

  
"I had to return your book!"

  
"You finished?"

  
"Not really," Trixie says into her purse, "but I was hoping you could read it to me?"

  
Katya crosses her legs on the unmade bed, reaches out to take the book from Trixie's outstretched hand. As she flips through, she insists, "sit down, sit down," but the only places are the bed or the floor, and Trixie's mom told her not to sit on hotel floors the only time they ever stayed in one. She sits on the edge of the bed as Katya finds the page and starts the last few pages.

  
"So what's your purpose then?"

  
"Excuse me?"

  
"She says women should be creatively fulfilled same as men. And you're not a housewife so you're halfway there already. Is teaching your purpose?"

  
Katya tosses the book on the nightstand and leans against the headboard. "I'd like to think my goals are a little more nuanced than that."

  
"But you've done it. You've achieved that goal."

  
"I wouldn't say that," Katya says. "I haven't even started yet. And I have other goals. What's your purpose, Trixie? Why are you here?"

 

"I'm here to," Trixie stops for a moment. "Can it be temporary? And I can find my big purpose later?"

  
"Of course."

"Right now my purpose is to find my purpose."

Katya is looking straight at her. "You can't do that here."

"I know."

"This is gonna sound crazy."

Trixie's heart jumps into her throat. "Yeah?"

"You should come with me." Katya's eyes are too bright to look into directly. "It's a nice apartment in the Pearl District, and it only has one bedroom but we can get a second bed. And there's a river. Two rivers, actually. I don't know why this is important, but maybe you like rivers. I know I sound crazy, but. It would be good for you to get out of here. And it would be good for me not to be alone."

Trixie laughs and doesn't speak for a moment, but she doesn't need to think about it. "What's the weather like in Portland?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry i know this chapter is pretty short but things will pick up soon!!!!  
> also if anyone would be up to editing this and/or keeping me on track that would be GREAT  
> you can follow me on tumblr @ sufjansondheim !


	3. i'm not sleepy and there is no place i'm going to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooray for road trips!  
> chapter title is from mr. tambourine man by bob dylan!

First she gathers armloads of clothes, her shoes, her makeup and perfume and jewelry. Stuffed into two suitcases that won't be missed. The extra weight makes the wooden stairs creak more than usual, but Trixie knows where to step. Katya meets her at the side door, breath disappearing white between the yellow kitchen light and the still night behind her. As Trixie hops back up the stairs, Katya carries her luggage to the van parked just down the street.  
Next it's her records, her guitar, the photograph of her with her sisters and mother. She falters before leaving behind her few books. Katya will have plenty, she's sure. All the cash she's ever made working in the grocery store comes out from under the mattress. A crayon drawing by her youngest sister from years ago puts a lump in her throat and she takes a moment to find a pen and paper.  
She slips a promise to write underneath the door of the first floor bedroom before slipping out.  
Her home of twenty-six years feels empty already. Katya holds the heavy box of records and Trixie trails behind with the rest.  
She looks over her shoulder, at the strange moonlit building standing alone in the grass.  
"Is this a mistake?"  
"No."  
"I feel silly. Running away like a kid."  
The last of Trixie's worldly possessions are packed away into the back of this stranger's van and she slams the trunk before Trixie can think twice.  
"You aren't running away, you're moving forward."  
Inside the van is warm. Katya had it running for her. In the comfortably worn seat between Trixie and Katya is a book, but it's too dark to read the title.  
As if she read Trixie's mind, Katya explains, "That's - it's too dark now, but when the sun rises maybe you could read that out loud. It's called Orlando by Virginia Woolf."  
"What's it about?"  
"Hard to explain. Better if you just wait."

When Katya steps on the gas Trixie has to remind herself that she's moving forward, even as she looks back into the darkness where she knows her sisters are, her store and her stepfather.

"Is there a radio in here?"

Katya turns a dial and the car crackles to life. "It's 1965, I hope all cars have radio."  
A moment later, Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" starts.  
"If we're gonna listen to this I'll need a cigarette. Every station is conspiring to play it every hour specifically to drive me crazy."  
Trixie turns the volume up. The voices are dreamy soft, bubbling from the front of the van to the back. "I've never heard it. I like it."  
"You'll change your mind after about a hundred more listens."  
By the time it ends, they've already driven further west than Trixie's been in her life. All around is flat, sparse grassland and black skies.  
"Did you like it the first time you heard it? The song."  
"I did, but I think I changed my mind. It's not so bad when I've got company."  
  
Three hours later when the sun reaches the horizon, Katya glances over at Trixie, who fell asleep after Katya changed the channel to the news. Looking at her Katya stifles a laugh at the blonde hairs in her mouth and the way one cheek is squished resting against her arm. Katya can't remember the color of her eyes but is glad for the opportunity to take in the rest of her face. She's truly untouched - time hasn't reached her round face, free of makeup with abundant freckles, thick eyebrows and eyelashes--  
Katya has to swerve to avoid going off the road and Trixie jumps awake.

"There was a rabbit in the road, sorry," Katya lies quickly.  
"That's okay," Trixie mumbles. She rubs her eyes - brown, almost black eyes - and changes the radio from AM to FM. Sonny and Cher are on again. They instantly exchange a look and laugh. It's the tail end of the song, and the Rolling Stones are on next.  
"Guess we can start this book now."  
Every time Orlando tries to start his epic about the Oak Tree something gets in the way. And Trixie doesn't see why queens and dukes and Russian princesses keep falling in love with him, but as immature and unsympathetic as he seems, Trixie has to stop when halfway through he falls asleep for many days and doesn't wake up.  
"He's not going to die, is he? There are so many pages left. The book is named after him."  
"Read."  
A dramatic sigh. "My eyes are going to fall out and my throat is sore."

"If you really want to stop at the best part, we can find food somewhere."  
"What state are we in?"  
"One of the Dakotas, I think. There's a diner at this exit and we need gas."

  
Trixie finds a booth where she can see Katya filling the gas tank from the window. She has a cigarette in her mouth, and huge round sunglasses obscure her eyes. Her cream shirt is creased in the back from the drive. She orders breakfast for both of them and catches Katya stamping her cigarette out in front of the restaurant before coming in.  
"Smoking's bad for you, isn't it?"  
"My lungs, my wallet. Did you remember the coffee?"  
"Yes," Trixie sighs. "When did you cut your hair?"  
"It's always been short. Why?"  
"I want to cut mine."  
Katya considers it. Shoulder length has been the fashion for as long as she's been alive, and Trixie's reaches her waist in untamed waves. "I'll cut it for you."  
"Will you make me look like Brigitte Bardot?"  
"You already do," Katya says with a wide red grin. "Although I'm surprised you know who that is."  
Coffee arrives with two mugs. Katya pours. Trixie brings it to her lips. She's always liked the smell. In the grocery store, on the rare occasions they had it, she would hold the bags to her face and inhale, but she never drank it. It's hot and watery. She spits it back into her cup immediately and Katya cackles.

"You need some cream and sugar," she says, softly sliding the small plate of sugar cubes toward her. Trixie drops them in with calloused fingers. Katya breaks her stare by looking into her own mug. "You're such a doll I'm surprised you're not married."

Trixie’s coffee is light brown now. “So am I. I guess it was never a priority.”

Katya bites her tongue. “Why?”

Trixie only shrugs, takes her first sip of coffee as Katya pours her second cup. Then Trixie puts her quilted cotton purse on the table and takes out Orlando. She starts to open it but cocks her head and asks, “Are _you_ married?”

Katya hesitates. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Men have done nothing but hold me back. They offer me nothing I can’t get myself. There are a lot of reasons.”

Trixie smiles. “That’s my answer too, then.” She starts to read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this keeps getting longer and longer bc i keep getting ideas.  
> also i SWEAR it gets more interesting this is all NECESSARY BUILDUP  
> follow and/or message me on tumblr @ sufjansondheim ! i am very nice and very hilarious.


	4. ever since we met you've had a hold on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song is "i only wanna be with you" by gay icon dusty springfield!

Leaving at midnight meant that by mid-afternoon both Trixie and Katya were risks to other drivers. They stop before the sun has set in South Dakota in a motel that would look abandoned if not for the single letter illuminated on the sign - the "o" - but they occupy one of ten rooms.

  
"I don't think anyone else is out here,” Katya says as she peeks through the curtain of the only window.

  
"If you'd let us stop back in Minnesota we might have been staying somewhere better."

  
"You were asleep."

  
"Still."

  
Trixie lets her long hair out of its loose braid, having dropped her overnight bag next to the queen-sized bed. She flops down and closes her eyes against the harsh lighting of the room. Katya opens the window wide, letting in the cool evening air.

"Pillow."

"Pillow?"

"That's what I forgot," Trixie sighs. "My pillow."

"Luckily they're not too hard to find." Katya lights a cigarette.

"Do you have to do that?" Trixie gestures to the smoke, but Katya plays dumb anyway.

"I can close the window if you'd rather."

"Never mind. When do you think we'll get there? Tomorrow?"

"Or the day after that," Katya says. "Did you still want me to do your hair?"

Minutes later Trixie is on a stool facing the streaky mirror in the bathroom with no door and Katya is hacking away with Trixie's fabric scissors. Hair is in her mouth and under her dress and on the floor. She spits some out before she starts talking.

"Orlando might be my new favorite book."

Katya beams. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. What was your favorite book before?"

"Little Women."

"That's a good one."

She can't see how long her hair is in the mirror, but she can feel Katya's hands between her shoulder blades.

"So when Orlando fell asleep and woke up a woman halfway through..." she trails off, unable to form the words. "I like the second half better."

"So do I. To your collarbones?"

Trixie spits more hair out. "Sure. Did Orlando still love Sasha when she turned into a woman? Since they both were, I mean."

"I think she did. Everything is up to interpretation, of course. But she did."

Trixie's neck prickles. Katya is snipping vertically, leaving the ends in points that curl toward her face.  
"Is there a word for that?"

Katya stops. The question is both vague and unmistakable. "Lesbian." She swallows. "I don't trust myself to give you bangs."

"I'll do it. I cut my sisters' hair." Trixie stands and leans over the sink. She uses her fingers to divide the front of her hair from the back and cuts straight across at eye level. "Last time I cut my hair I did it myself. I was fifteen and I tried giving myself bangs just like this. So you can see why I haven't touched it since."

Katya snorts. "I feel bad for whoever has to vacuum."

Trixie isn't paying attention, she's looking in the mirror at the slightly uneven hair that hides her forehead. "This doesn't look right."

"What if you - here, let me." Katya crouches down so they're face to face. Her fingertips brush Trixie's forehead and the hair that hung straight down is now parted in the center. "Now you have eyebrows again."

  
She could look in the mirror, but it's so much easier to look at Katya when she's right there. "Thank you."

  
“I’m taking a shower.”

When she hears the soft sound of the water, Trixie opens Katya’s purse on the floor by the bed, careful not to look closely at anything but what she’s trying to find. She takes out Orlando and opens it to reread the beginning.

Katya comes out of the shower soon after with dark smudges under her eyes in a rough white motel robe. She sees Trixie, who quickly shuts the novel, and smiles.

"I have more you might like, if you want. How do you feel about poetry?"

"It's awful."

"You trusted my judgment before! Just think of it as music."

"Music is music, poetry is boring and usually depressing."

"E E Cummings?" Trixie looks unimpressed. "Sappho? Oscar Wilde? Langston Hughes?"

"I don't know these people."

"I swear you'll love it. Trust me," Katya stumbles, still only in a robe, toward her suitcase and throws a binder onto the bed. "You read, I have to do my hair."

Trixie opens the overstuffed binder. Pages torn out of library books, torn napkins with poems copied down in ink, notebook paper with pen scribbles in many colors and by many different hands. All meticulously dated and sourced. She looks up at Katya, who squints into the mirror above the dresser as she rolls big sections of blonde hair into huge metal curlers. Her pale eyes flick down to meet Trixie's in the mirror. "Just pick one, my taste is impeccable."

Trixie looks back down at the page already open. Several short lines in blue ink on a torn scrap of a magazine page, glued onto the back of a different paper.

"Like the sweet apple that reddens  
At end of the bough–  
Far end of the bough–  
Left by the gatherer’s swaying,  
Forgotten, so thou.  
Nay, not forgotten, ungotten,  
Ungathered till now."

"Interesting choice." Katya’s hair is easy. Two curlers on each side with the frontmost pieces in pin curls. Even with the metal curlers and the smudged makeup, she's an unsettlingly beautiful woman. While each feature on her face is perfect alone, together they make something more confusing, harder to look away from.

"The other ones have dates and notes in the margins."

"It's ancient, is why. Greek," Katya pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the robe and reaches to the nightstand for her lighter.

"Come on, at least go outside for that."

Katya goes to open the window again. "You'll get used to this soon enough. Could you read another?"

Trixie flips to the beginning, to another short poem copied carefully onto a page from a hotel notepad, the words wrapped in tiny smudgy pencil scribbles.

" 'Hope' is the thing with feathers -  
That perches in the soul -  
And sings the tune without the words -  
And never stops - at all -  
And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -  
And sore must be the storm -  
That could abash the little Bird  
That kept so many warm -  
I’ve heard it in the chillest land -  
And on the strangest Sea -  
Yet - never - in Extremity,  
It asked a crumb - of me."

Katya smiles from the windowsill. "Dickinson's most popular work."

"I know her. We had a book of poetry at the school."

"This - this one used to be my favorite."

"It was?"

"Yes. ‘Hope is the thing with feathers...’ I was scared," Katya pauses to take a drag from her cigarette, "Scared to leave Boston, everything I knew." She leans her head back against the peeling paint of the wall, her lips turned up just barely at the corners. "You were much braver than I was."

Trixie's cheeks feel warm, though it's not unpleasant. "I didn't have to do it alone."

"Running away is never easy."

"Not running away," Trixie says, "moving forward, like you said."

"Maybe a little of both."

She can't tell if Katya wants to be asked the obvious question. At the window she's putting out the cigarette, and when she flops down on her back on the bed the smell follows her. The mattress dips toward the added weight and rather than fight it, Trixie leans in on one hand.

She fumbles with the scrapbook for a moment to turn to another page. Rather than read it, she asks, "When did you start this?"

"Maybe fifteen years ago," her eyes are closed and she looks like she might fall asleep on top of the covers. The clock on the nightstand says 7:30. "When I started college as a literature major, I collected everything I had to read. But since then I've filtered through the originals from college, so the ones that are left are special. I have all my books in the car – I could never bear to part with them."

Trixie rests on her side to face Katya, touching the pages of the book. "I brought all my records with me. We'll have quite the collection."

Katya turns her head toward Trixie with a smile. "I'm afraid there's a gap of five years in mine."

"Why?"

"I didn't have time to read anything new."

"Why not?"

Katya gets up and crouches next to her suitcase. "You're awfully nosy, but I can't blame you."

"Sorry."

Katya drops her robe. The window is still open, the curtain blowing in the chill breeze. Heat flows into Trixie's face and she looks away instinctively. She remembers taking measurements for dresses for her sisters, changing in high school gym. Why should that be any different? She looks back up and Katya is only wearing a long, baggy sweatshirt and argyle socks. Then she’s throwing a wallet onto the bed.

"Might as well get it out in the open."

Trixie sits up and opens the wallet. Inside is a photo of Katya with a man. She's wearing a white dress and smiling. "You said you weren't married."

  
"I'm not anymore." Her face now compared to the photograph is tired. "I wouldn't lie to you. But I don't want to talk about this."

"Okay."

"Now I get to ask you questions."

"Fine."

"To promote a healthy roommate relationship."

"Of course."

"Why did you come with me?"

It catches Trixie off-guard. "I don't know." Upon seeing Katya's eyebrows go up, she adds, "I was hoping to learn something about myself by leaving, maybe."

"So, what, is this a vacation to you?"

"No," Trixie says, "I couldn't go back. I haven't thought about it. Haven't thought about my sisters-" she swallows around the lump that suddenly appears in her throat, "I know I couldn't go back. I would have my store and my family, but that's not what I want."

"You said you didn't know what you wanted."

"I don't. But it's not in Wisconsin."

"Well, it could be in Portland."

Katya and Trixie are both sitting in bed again, facing each other, and smiling.

"Where are you teaching again?"

"Portland State College. I searched all over the country and I'm lucky they took me," Katya pauses. "It's fairly progressive on the west coast, I hear. My curriculum if I have any control over it will be at least half women writers. And recent works. Writers who push boundaries."

"Do they let you do that?"

"Probably not. I wish. Feminism has taken a hit in the last decade, after all."

"Like in the Feminine Mystique."

"Right. Exactly how out of the loop are you? I don't want to talk down to you, but Wisconsin is not known for activism in public education."

Trixie shakes her head. "I don't know anything about feminism but what Betty Friedan said."

"I know. What a fabulous woman."

She's silent, biting her tongue and looking down. Trixie tilts her head. "You can talk about it, if you want."

"We were making progress! In the last decade it's all gone to hell. We can vote, but why bother? Women’s wages and healthcare are taking a back seat to the war. Half of women are fine with letting a man control her life because he makes her think it’s her idea." Her frowning face is buried in her hands. "I'm still so angry I became involved so late."

"But I like hearing what you're passionate about," Trixie's hand lurches out to touch Katya's bare knee of its own volition. "I've never met someone like you. I'm trying to learn - to be as passionate about something as you are, but I don't even have a television at home. We heard about JFK two weeks after. Everything gets to us late."

"That's hardly your fault when I just said I was late to feminism too," Katya remembers her wallet and takes it back, throws it toward her suitcase. "Peter made sure of that."

  
"How did you meet your husband?" Trixie asks.

Katya doesn’t hesitate anymore. “Second year of college, at Russian club. He was an exchange student and Russian was my minor. I make him sound like a bad guy, but...he was fun to talk to.”

Trixie gets up to wash her face. “What’s your last name?”

“ _Mine_ is McCook. His was Zamolodchikov.” She laughs as if realizing something for the first time. “He gave me a first and last name. MY legal name is Kathryn, but Kathryn's are a dime a dozen, so I like Katya.”

“You really liked him?” Trixie runs the washcloth under cold water and wrings it out, bringing it to her face.

“I loved him, but you can see why it didn’t work.”

“I can’t imagine anything not working with you. Since we met everything has clicked into place.”

Katya looks at her freshly scrubbed face with her eyes almost closed and just laughs with the familiar wheeze every smoker Trixie's ever known has. Then her eyes close completely and she rolls over onto her stomach. "It’s time for bed." The summer sun has hardly set at 8:00.

“Okay.”

Trixie switches off the lamp and climbs between the sheets, embarrassment heating her face, but since she doesn't know how to stop she adds, “I really like learning about you, Katya.”

“I like getting to know you, too, sweetheart.”

“That’s probably good, since we’ll be living together indefinitely.” Trixie smiles at Katya’s giggle and continues, “You can ask me anything, you know. I’m an open book. Maybe unfinished, but open.”

Katya kicks out her leg so her ankle is crossed over Trixie’s under the covers. “I know. But we’ve got plenty of time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating twice in a week and with the longest chapter so far?? i'm giving the gays everything they want


	5. you don't know how glad i am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> song is how glad i am by nancy wilson!

"Did you read that sign?"

"No. Which one, why?" Trixie gasps, "Are we going the wrong way?"

"Not at all," Katya points out her window from the passenger seat, "Welcome to Oregon."

Trixie's mouth opens in what could be a smile. "So how much longer until Portland?"

"Maybe seven hours."

Trixie pouts again.

"But today will be shorter than yesterday at least. We can take a break whenever you need," Katya offers gently.

"Right now I just want to get there as soon as possible so I don't have to be alone with your smoker breath."

"You don't like the rattling of my lungs as I read you Sylvia Plath?"

"No, but I do like Sylvia Plath, and that's the only reason I'll let you continue."

Katya looks down at the open pages of The Bell Jar in her lap only for a wave of nausea to hit. "I can't."

"You can't?"

"Carsick."

Trixie throws her a worried glance. "Should I pull over?"

"No, I just don't want to read for a minute." Katya leans her head in her palm, elbow against the window, sending distracting vibrations through her body.

Trixie turns up the volume on the radio, never taking her eyes off the road. It's a song she's heard before in passing, but someone was always talking over it.

Ahead, the sky is vivid blue. For miles ahead the land is golden brown, no houses peeking between the rolling hills, just the occasional patch of trees. The singer begs, "stand by me," and the quiet pleasant beauty is gone, replaced by guilt.

"I won't see my sisters graduate high school."

"You don't know that." Katya's eyes are closed and her eyebrows are scrunched together. "It's for the best, anyway. How are we doing on gas?"

"Shit."

"Damn it."

"I told you we should have filled up after Montana-"

"It just seemed like we were so close! Now there's nothing around for miles," Katya's fingers go to her hair, pulling, and Trixie reaches out to grab her hand, forcing it down to her lap.

"Hey, it's okay. Look for a town on the map. We've got at least a quarter of a tank." Her voice drops to nearly a whisper, her hand still covering Katya's. It stays there until she hears a deep breath.

"Looks like…Pendleton will be coming up soon. We should be able to make it."

"See? We're okay." Katya doesn't look convinced. "Could you read from The Bell Jar?"

 

They don't make it to Pendleton, but the town is visible from where the car finally breaks down. Trixie lets it roll to a halt at the shoulder of the road.

"So now..."

"We start walking. Shouldn't take too long." Trixie swings her legs out and slams the driver side door behind her.

"Should one of us stay? So no one breaks in?

"We've hardly seen a soul on the road since we left."

"Or what if we just wait for someone else to come by?"

Trixie ignores her and starts walking. She doesn't take two steps before Katya's heels are clicking behind her, then beside her on the asphalt.

"Purse, keys?"

"What would I do without you? Yes, yes," Katya checks. She's already walking funny. "You might need to carry me on the way back."

Trixie looks at Katya’s legs. Brown Mary Janes with a kitten heel, with pantyhose that she knows will chafe in no time. "You don't have better shoes?" Katya shakes her head. "I could carry you."

"I was joking," Katya laughs. "Beauty is pain, isn't it?"

"I didn't think you'd subscribe to that way of thinking."

"I try not to. It's all habit." Katya looks like she came from the previous decade with her red lips and carefully styled bob. It's possible that she's had the same wardrobe since her marriage. Trixie only ever sees her in collared shirts with pencil skirts, all neutral shades that don't match Katya's contagious vibrancy. It might have at one point. It hurts to imagine a younger Katya, married to someone she couldn’t be with for whatever reason. She never told Trixie how long it lasted, when it ended, how it ended. Was she scared? Lonely? But like Katya said, they have plenty of time for that.

Now, Trixie is content to be friends and strangers all at once.

 

Katya was right. After fifteen minutes they've reached the outside of Pendleton. Katya approaches the first person they see and asks where the gas station is.

"That intersection is across town," Katya moans. With her huge map of Oregon out and her big round sunglasses on, they couldn't look more like tourists. Trixie says so, laughing, and Katya replies, "I don't know why anyone would vacation here when there's only one gas station."

"Don't forget the prison we passed." Katya does her wheezing smoker laugh. "Let's take our time, at least. We haven't stopped since South Dakota."

They follow the sidewalks, Katya leading the way, and Trixie giggles at how confident she looks in the unfamiliar town. Leaves and flowers from the canopy of trees rain down and Trixie would enjoy the view if she weren't preoccupied with Katya.

"Do you want food? I know we have some in the car but I doubt we'll be getting back soon. Ah, shit, the grapes will be raisins by sunset. That's fine. Do you think there's Mexican food here?"

"I've never had Mexican," Trixie murmurs, sending Katya into another spiel. She can't imagine this woman as a housewife no matter how hard she tries. Was it the lifestyle that made her run away or the man?

"Oh, Trix."

"Hmm?"

"Let's go to the art gallery."

Katya is already pulling her inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor.

"Oh wow."

Paintings line the walls and sculptures stand in a line down the center of the room.

"Are you ladies interesting in buying anything today? All the artwork is inspired by the state of Oregon. It makes a great gift!"

"No," Katya replies without looking at the gallery attendant. She's drawn to a landscape in the back corner while Trixie gravitates toward the center of the room, walking carefully down the line of sculptures.

"Actually, how much are these? On average?"

The attendant appears next to Trixie, seemingly out of nowhere. "Between seventy-five and two hundred fifty dollars."

"Is there anything cheaper?" Katya is asking this time, and the clerk, whose name tag says Morgan, is more than enthusiastic to answer.

"We do have jewelry?"

Katya digs through her purse as Morgan leads her to the counter. Trixie trails behind and leans over it on her elbows.

Morgan rattles off prices and descriptions of each item, and everything is either shaped like a tree or a mountain, in gold or silver, and comes as a necklace or a ring.

"Two of these."

Katya is pointing at necklaces with charms shaped like the outline of Oregon.

"Thirty-six bucks."

"And?"

"No sales tax here!"

"I'll pay you back," Trixie pitches in, already wincing at the dent in her savings it will make, but Katya just waves her hand and hands over the cash.

"Thank you," Trixie says and leans down so Katya can put the necklace on her, "I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it. Let's go eat."

 

Trixie likes Mexican food, she realizes, and she likes talking to Katya over chips and salsa, pronouncing everything on the menu in different accents. She hopes Mexican food is everywhere.

They finally reach the gas station a few hours after they left.

"Do we have to drive all night again?"

"You can sleep and I'll drive," Katya volunteers. She already volunteered to carry the gas can, which makes her look even tinier than she is.

"I think we should both sleep."

"If we're both sleeping, who's driving?"

"No one. If we leave now we'll get to Portland at, what, two in the morning? And we won't be able to move in."

"Fine," Katya tries to wave her off, but holding the gas can in one arm throws her off balance. Trixie grabs her shoulder to stabilize her.

"I'm carrying that."

"That's fair."

 

When they reach the car it's completely dark and the coolness of the night has settled.

"Sleeping in the car is asking for trouble."

"How do you mean?"

"They might not have pounced on our luggage but with us in here? We're an easy target."

“I’ll protect you,” Trixie smiles and reaches for Katya’s hand. It earns her a laugh, a real one. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

Katya cranks down the driver side window and Trixie has known her long enough to know what that means. She struggles to light her cigarette with one hand, the other still clasped in both of Trixie’s.

“You want to know what happened? We were friends. And to graduate college unmarried for me was going to be a death sentence. I said yes to him. I stopped reading. Too busy being a good, pregnant housewife. Three times, I lost them,” she stops to blow smoke out the window, “I wanted to know why. I was perfect. I cooked and cleaned and went to every fucking neighborhood party—sorry.”

“For what?”

“Swearing.”

“Oh. Don’t worry about that.”

“So I went to the library to figure out what caused miscarriages. Every day. I got real friendly with the librarian. She made me read the Feminine Mystique. Other books too. And I knew I couldn’t stay, so I did what I’ve always wanted to do,” she smiled, cigarette between her perfect white teeth. “I taught. Or tried to. Applied everywhere. They only wanted high school English or worse, elementary school teachers. But not at Portland State College. A few places closer to Boston, but I needed to get as far as possible. And that's most of what happened.”

She's winding the window shut again, trapping some of the sweet tobacco smell inside, but Trixie doesn't mind as much as she did before. When Katya closes her eyes Trixie does the same. Trixie’s hands are clammy against Katya’s cool, dry one. With neither of them talking she realizes how touchy she had been, running her fingertips over Katya’s wrist and palm. She relaxes her grip. “I’m so glad,” Trixie hesitates. Anything she could say would sound ridiculous in the stillness, but that alone feels ambiguous enough to convey what she’s feeling. Glad Katya is living how she was meant to live, glad she dragged Trixie along. The physical sensation of her heart straining toward Katya’s every time she learns something new about her. Wanting that feeling to never stop. She repeats it in a whisper so low Katya might not even hear it. “I’m so glad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always follow me on tumblr @ sufjansondheim and check out my other fic unhhhhsolved if you like this one (that one is finished!!!)  
> i love and appreciate all my readers so much !


	6. sunshine on a cloudy day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my girl - the temptations

It’s sunny the day they arrive. Trixie pulled over before they got into town, nervous for the traffic, but there wasn’t much of it. After miles and miles of brown and gray, the brightness of the city is dazzling. She rolls down the passenger window and sticks her arm out, mouth open.

 

“I wish I could take a picture of all this in my mind to hold onto.”

 

Katya appreciates the view too. The sparkling water of the Willamette leads the eye straight up to a rusty bridge around the curve in front of them. “Well, this won’t be the last time you’ll see it.”

 

“But it will never look just like this again.”

 

Katya recalls the morning they met, when Trixie’s eyes were sleepy and her hair was long, the high-pitched fake-cheerful voice she put on for the first few minutes. “You’re right,” she says, and she burns the moment into her memory.

 

Their apartment is on Burnside two flights of stairs up from a furniture store.

Katya fell in love with it immediately. “Look,” she had yelled while sticking her whole torso out the window, “You can see the river between those buildings!”

 

The first thing Trixie tries to do when they've unpacked is write a letter to her family. It takes longer than she expected - while Katya is out buying groceries, Trixie is struggling to find the words they'll want to hear. "I'm sorry" doesn't sound right and neither does "I'll be back as soon as I can," but both phrases make it into all her drafts. She's just starting over again when Katya gets back, bags in both hands and her bangs plastered to her forehead.  


"No one told me Portland was so goddamn wet."  


"I'm fairly sure you were warned," Trixie teases, "Any discoveries?"  


"There’s a lovely used bookstore and art supply store," Katya says, "and I did get a great view of the Willamette on the way over before the fog hit. Joan Baez?"  


The record player on top of the radio in the corner of their living room warbles and Trixie smiles. "It is. You were right, she is my type."  


"Of music?"  


"What else?" Katya shrugs but she's smirking a little. "Anyway," Trixie says, joining Katya to unpack groceries in the kitchen, "What should we play after this one ends?"  


"I have a better idea." Something about Portland has changed her already and she looks younger, her smile reaching her eyes more and her damp hair falling around her face in waves like a little girl's. "I met a woman at the art supply store and she invited us to a book club at her house tonight."  
  
They walk along the river all ten blocks from Burnside to Lovejoy. "Look for a blue houseboat with yellow roses on all the windows - that's how Raja described it."  


“What’s a houseboat?”

 

“You’ll know when you see it.”

 

Summer means the sun is still high in the sky at seven, and the reflections on the river make Trixie squint. Still, it's easy to pick it out once they get there - it's the biggest one on this side of the water.   


"You came!"  


The woman who answers the door is almost as tall as Trixie without shoes, and has long salt and pepper hair. Before Trixie can take in anything else about her, she's being pulled close for an extended hug. "It's good to finally meet you, Trixie, and Katya!" she gives Katya the same treatment, but has to squat slightly to reach her height. "It's been too long! Almost the whole day and you couldn’t even call? Come in!"  


Inside there are windows everywhere, hardwood floors and perfectly chosen paint. And women in every seat available, comfortably close to each other, with no books in sight.  


"Isn't this a book club?"  


Raja just laughs. Some of the other girls giggle too. "Let me introduce everyone. Trixie and Katya, from left to right, meet Shangela, Shea, Brionna, and Monet. Usually we have at least one more, but Sasha is--"  


"--Working," one of them supplies.  


They're still standing in the middle of the room, trying to memorize all the names, when there are footsteps on the stairs.  


"Damn, I forgot one." Raja glides to meet the last woman at the bottom of the stairs. "This is Raven's house."  


Trixie sees the way Raja's hands linger on Raven's waist and says, "This isn't a book club, is it?"  


"No," Katya agrees, half to herself.   


“It’s a lot of things. We all know how to read, so it _could_ be a book club.” Raja carries two dining room chairs to the living room, allowing them all to join the circle.  


"So are you all..." Trixie trails off, already knowing the answer.  


"Who wants tea?" Raja asks and leaves for the kitchen before anyone can answer.  


Raven answers the question she didn't ask. "Feminists? Women who live completely free of men?"  


"Some more free than others," someone jokes, and Trixie memorizes her raspy voice, her beehive and sharp eyeliner. Shangela, she thinks. "I'm married," she explains, but there's no ring on her finger.  


"Should we not have invited you?" Raven's eyes are terrifying to look directly into, sharp and focused. Everything about her looks razor sharp from her carefully cropped black hair to the bridge of her nose.  


"No," Katya says. "I just didn't think I'd find...people like me so fast." What did she mean, people like her? _She would have told me by now._ Trixie reassures herself by remembering that Raven said women who live without men, which is exactly what Katya said she wanted. It doesn’t make her a lesbian. She couldn’t even imagine Katya with anyone, let alone another woman – the thought makes her sick to her stomach.  


Raja comes back holding too many mugs in her arms. "Please take these, they're burning holes through my sleeves," she laughs. "Earl Grey for Brionna, green for Shea and green with sugar for Shangela, Darjeeling for Raven – Trixie, you look like a peppermint gal, and Katya said she was a coffee person yesterday, so that’s brewing now,” she says to Katya. No one else looks as impressed as Trixie feels that she remembered all their favorites and guessed what Trixie wanted.

 

“So let's all get to know each other a little better!" When she can finally sit down, tea in hand, Raja says, "I'll go first. My name is Raja. I'm an artist. Raven was the first woman I fell in love with and I've lived with her for almost twenty years because I'm a gold digger."  


"Don't let them know we're old," Raven chastises. "Raven. Costume designer for the local theatre company. We're hiring in the shop, by the way, if you know anyone who sews."  


Trixie glances at Katya, who's already looking at her. "I sew," Trixie says.

  
"Raven," Raja whines, "Can you not wait to push theatre onto naïve young girls?"

  
Raja sits in the middle of the couch, facing the window, with Shangela and Katya on either side of her. Trixie and Raven are on the dining room chairs and the other girls are split between a loveseat and a huge armchair. Her ankles are crossed and her hands are in her lap. Everyone else looks comfortable.  


"I guess I'll go next," Shangela says. "I'm Shangela, I'm a court stenographer, and I first realized I liked women when I saw the first Playboy magazine with Marilyn Monroe." That gets several nods of recognition, including one from Katya. Trixie hasn’t seen it.  


"I'm Shea," the girl in the armchair says. Her hair is free and natural, adorned with white flowers and parted in the center, and she’s dressed almost like Raja in loose, flowing patterns. She's easily the most beautiful girl in the room, Trixie thinks, completely bare-faced with no bra and her shoes kicked off on the rug in front of her. "I'm a florist and I don't know how I realized I was a lesbian, but Sasha and I met at a protest and the rest is history." She smiles at the memory as Brionna has already begun.  


"Brionna. I run a Jewish bakery near Pioneer Place and I don't know if I like women, but they're sure better company than men." She laughs at her own joke and Trixie laughs too. Brionna is short and pretty and looks maybe a little less comfortable than the rest of them. Her back doesn’t touch the chair as she looks at the girl next to her.  


"I'm Monet and I'm actually Shangela's husband's sister-"  


"I'm Shangela, if you forgot."  


"This is my moment, Shangie," Monet says, and everyone laughs again. "I'm a waitress and I like men just fine but women are easier for me to understand." Trixie nods. Just because she never connected with boys in school doesn’t mean she’s a lesbian. She’s never felt anything for anyone, really, and that’s fine, and she doesn’t know why she has to keep telling herself that. Clearly she has no problem with any of these ladies; it’s just that she doesn’t belong here. Not like Katya apparently does.  


It's Katya's turn. "I’m Katya. I was married and I fell in love with a librarian. When my husband found out, I left and he doesn't know where I am. And I'm a literature professor. Or I will be starting at the end of August."  


Trixie's heart swells with pride that distracts her until she notices the expectant looks from the other women. They know her name. She doesn’t have a job to boast about, and she doesn’t like women like they do, so she has nothing to say. "Pass?"

Raja nods. "Where are you from, then?"

"Wisconsin," Trixie says, looking at Katya who is the only one in the room looking somewhere else. "Moving here was very spur of the moment. I just knew I had to when I met you. Her. Katya," she corrects herself.

  
"When you said they were roommates I thought you meant something a little more like our situation," Raven tells Raja, then turns back to Trixie.

 

"You've known each other how long?"  


"One week." Eyebrows rise across the room and Trixie can feel her face heating up. "But it's not like that. We're friends. I don't - I'm not a. You know." But Katya is. And she hasn't looked at Trixie since she said it.  


 

They leave around midnight, walking the few blocks to their apartment in silence. They pass a Burgerville, the fast food place Monet raved about, on the way, and Trixie can see herself sitting outside in the summer sun with a sundae, watching the boats go by. Maybe some of her new friends would be there, relaxed in their hats and sunglasses. It’s cold now and everything is closed.

 

Katya is shaking from the caffeine Raja had flowing throughout the evening and from the cool breeze off the river. "I should have told you."  


That jerks her back to reality. "Don't worry about it."  


"I told you everything else. Things I’ve never told anyone."  


Trixie sighs as they cross the street, leaving the view of the water behind. Katya is in front of her with her ankles wobbling in her heels. "I don't see you any differently," she insists.  


"I can sleep on the couch, if you're uncomfortable."  


"I'm not."  


"The most embarrassing thing," Katya's teeth chatter with the force of her shaking, "I thought maybe you were too. That's not why I brought you to the book club - the meeting, whatever. I didn't know about that either. I-" she sighs, wraps herself in her black cardigan. "I need a cigarette."  


"You're still the same to me."  


"The Feminine Mystique," Katya said, "Orlando."  


"I don't know." Trixie's arms are crossed in front of her. Katya is different in the moonlight. It suits her. The silver chain of her necklace catches a white reflection off the street lamps. "I don't know what it feels like."  


"What's 'it'?"  


"Anything," Trixie laughs. "I'm missing a piece, or something. I just don't know what I want. At all. I’m too old to have never been in love. I don’t like men, I don’t like women, I don’t like kids. You’re the first friend I’ve had outside my family. I’ve only had one job and until a week ago I thought that would be my life forever. I felt like a whole person in Wisconsin and now I’m too small for Portland.” There’s worry in Katya’s eyes when she turns her head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it here already, but I don’t know what to do with myself."  


"No one knows what they’re doing, sweetheart." She needs a job and this one landed in her lap. She'll be good at it and know at least one person.

 

“You can start with the theatre job, at least.”  


"Okay.” Speaking her mind wasn’t as cathartic as she’d hoped it would be. Trixie’s fear and frustration is still there, now mixed with guilt for making it about herself.

 

“It’s funny. I’m so hung up on my past and you’re so worried about the future.”

 

“I don’t know. It was so easy to live in the moment when I didn’t see myself going anywhere.”

 

“I know how that feels.”

 

How easily Trixie forgets that Katya was just as isolated as she was. That there are still things that keep them apart. Trixie suddenly has the overwhelming impulse to hold Katya’s hand, but the silhouette of a stranger walking their direction on the other side of the street deters her. Instead, she walks close enough that her elbow bumps Katya’s arm. “We’ll figure it out eventually.”

 

“I know, doll,” Katya says as they reach their building, “We’ve got plenty to look forward to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me @ sufjansondheim on tumblr i don't have a drag race url but that's all i post. thx!  
> and read my other fic which is finished and modern au!!!!!  
> i appreciate kudos and comments so much :')


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